The National Geographic Magazine
To save time we cut corners, crossing nar
rowing crevasses by precarious snow bridges.
The glacier startled us frequently with
jerky movements. Jumbled icefalls were too
dangerous to set foot on; we skirted these
awesome obstacles. Laden with heavy packs
often weighing 80 to 100 pounds (Betty car
ried lighter loads, up to 55 pounds), we were
working very hard, even though moving at a
snail's pace.
Everybody donned dark glasses as soon as
we hit the ice. When the sun shone, the
thermometer in wind-free snow basins reached
85°, largely because of glaring reflection.
Desert Heat on Tyndall Glacier
An untaped nose quickly became scorched
and red. If we impatiently shed shirts, severe
burning was the penalty. There was a good
excuse to let beards grow: if we had shaved,
sunlight reflected from snow would soon have
seared the undersides of our chins.
As I ran back and forth on the glacier above
Camp Six taking movies of the relay party,
my mouth hung open from exertion. That
evening the roof of my mouth was sunburned.
My tongue and lips were so sore I could
hardly eat. I kept going by sipping cold tea.
Camp Seven, at the base of the main bulk
of the Haydon-St. Elias massif, was a perfect
spot for a "seventh-inning stretch" before
tackling the upper slopes. A lovely sun
bathed meadow of heather, moss, and grasses
fringed the foot of a ridge up which our route
would pass.
Our name for this camp, "Shangri-la," was
descriptive, if not original. Strains of a har
monica, swelling and ebbing across the lonely
land, abetted Nature in lulling us to relax in
an attitude of "Who cares!" Ben Ferris,
stretched out on the warm grass, expressed
the general sentiment: "Let's stay here for
the summer. To heck with going any higher!"
Ben aroused himself sufficiently, however,
to keep up the "step test" and other physio
logical experiments and observations which
we had promised to carry out for the Harvard
Fatigue Laboratory. Although the physical
condition of our party improved all the way
up St. Elias, at our highest camp none of us
could complete the step test, because of the
oxygen lack three miles above sea level.
This test required each man to step up on
a 20-inch box once every two seconds for five
minutes, to permit a check on pulse and
respiration changes at different altitudes.
On a snow slope near Camp Seven the
Tenth Rescue Squadron made the first drop
of supplies on June 27, exactly on schedule.
ItwasajoytoseethebigDC-3swoopinat
200 feet and dump more than half a ton of
goods squarely within the target area.
But the plane's visit reminded us that we
still had 15,000 feet of mountain to scale and
that our next rendezvous with Captain Holdi
man and his crew was only a few days off.
While some of us completed relaying sup
plies from Camp Six to Camp Seven, we sent
out an advance crew to dig in the next two
camps and prepare for the aircraft's return.
Advance Party Scouts Route
Putnam, Latady, and I each took 60 pounds
and started up on June 29. Rotten rock
slowed our pace on the first ridge, but by
sundown we had reached a shelf of shale at
7,500 feet, ideal for a campsite.
Next morning dawned crystal clear. Look
ing ahead up the chosen route, we saw the
glaciated rim of a huge cirque, or ice-floored
mountain amphitheater, curving away for
miles towards the summit of Mount Haydon.
Below the rim lay a great snowy basin.
From Camp Seven the others began to
bring up the first relay loads. Latady, Put
nam, and I set out to pioneer farther along
the avalanche-swept cliffs that walled the
cirque (page 245).
Crossing a steep narrow gulley, we became
aware of a terrifying sound-at first a distant
rumble and quickly a swelling swish-of slid
ing tons of snow, plunging at us with ever
swifter speed.
But this avalanche was not for us. It
thundered past, its powdery fringe burying
our feet and ankles. We stood silent for a
minute, watching the white swirl of destruc
tion wear itself out on the ice flats below.
Too close!
Up we crept over slopes of scree and along
cliffs of ice and rock. We plodded through
knee-deep snow soggy from the blazing sun.
We chopped steps in ice cliffs, leaving safety
ropes fixed for future use.
Finally we emerged dramatically through a
hole in an overhanging cornice upon the hard
packed upper ridge of Mount Haydon. Near
by, at 10,400 feet, we established Camp Nine
and crawled into sleeping bags to await the
scheduled arrival of the plane in the morning.
Stormbound for a Week
At seven we were awakened by the soft,
dispiriting patter of powder snow on the tent
wall. The square we had tramped out as
aiming spot for the air delivery was com
pletely erased. A strong southeast wind filled
the air with blowing snow. We knew the
plane would not arrive that day.
We could not have anticipated what came
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